Static Blue
by dutchtreat
Summary: Dean's time is running out fast and he's trying to drown his inner demons in whiskey; only this time the alcohol does not have the effect he's hoping for and he starts seeing some one who cannot be there anymore...or can she?


**AN:** My first try at writing a SPN story. It's set between 3x15 and 3x16 and is in first person's (Dean's) POV. It has turned out slightly darker than I initially planned. Characters are not mine. Reviews are very much appreciated.

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**Static Blue**

Slightly intoxicated I cross the parking lot of yet another small, meaningless, boring, godforsaken, town. It's funny how something _'some one'_, that kept your mind occupied for quite a long time, is all of a sudden not there anymore. It's kind of a relief that it was not by my doing, it was her own choice; a decision she made years ago. Still it hurt in a way; confronted me too much with my own fate, my own downfall.

I'm aimless, feel like I've lost something. Each thought about her is a kind of punishment. A reminder of how I perhaps overlooked something, could've handled things differently, should've gotten her to open up sooner; open up more.

Unconscious I make my way out of the spring rain into the stuffy, stinking bar. Inside it's not much better; it's too hot and damp to be comfortable and the strange shadows make every face look weathered, desperate, resigned to a life of hopelessness. Sighing I rest against the bar and order my umpteenth whiskey. While I let the numbing liquid slowly fill my bloodstream _'good thing Sammy decided to stay in the motel' _I look at the faces of the few women present; comparing them all to her.

Soon the combination of the sticky heat, alcohol, dark corners and the eerie blue lights at the walls makes me realize that there's something of her in all of them, just not in that perfect uptown girl _'fucking Joel song' _look she'd got down to a T. For a moment every glance is her bright green one, every word spoken is in that _'bloody' _accent, every sentence spoken is hers.

Another whiskey, though I know it will not help me forgot - not today - not ever. It just messes up my mind. A woman notices me. Most likely not up to my standards _'yes I do have some standards',_ but a distraction nonetheless. She comes to me swaying on the sound of the jukebox, back to the light - a black shadow against the blue. Suddenly the sways become her hips moving, the hair is her hair and the face is her face. Her movements are sultry and she looks me straight in the eye. Her dancing is hypnotizing and her green eyes _'or aren't they?' _don't miss any of my reactions. She touches me briefly and the light seems to burn brighter, the blue makes the room spin, any sense of time and space disappears completely.

Closer she gets, forcing my back further up against the bar, making me involuntary _'I don't dance!' _move against her. When I finally lean in a bit to regain some control, she brushes her lips against my sweaty throat, and I'm under her spell again. That's something I always admired about her, the ability to turn any situation to her hand _'manipulative bitch'_. For a brief moment there's confusion_ 'it cannot be'_, but then a slow song starts and all the lights dim, except for those over the small dance floor at the other side of the bar.

The darkness is complete and closer and closer she gets. Rubbing her hands against my chest she keeps moving and moving, swaying and swaying and I'm getting noticeable excited. I feel soft lips touching mine, the wetness of a tongue; the taste of wine mixes with whiskey and I softly moan as I feel her hand move down to my crotch. My body jerks under her fingers and I feel her smile against my mouth when she slowly rubs my length.

My control is gone and slowly but certainly I raise my hands to touch that body, the body that has been taunting me for the last couple of frustrating months, her body - forbidden, wrong, but hot _'damn, so hot!'_. My fingertips follow the slopes and curves that I can see so clearly in my mind's eye. Brushing over nipples, I push away that annoying inner voice, which by turns sounds like Sam, Dad, Bobby and even that demon whore, telling me that this is not really the body I remember, not really the woman I think it is, the woman I want it to be. The dark is deafening, the mood is horny_ 'so am I'_ and I don't wanna hear, I just wanna feel.

I find her mouth again. Despite my conflicting emotions I kiss her even more intense, more desperate, my fingers too rough on her body - bruising even. I want her to know what could've been, what she has so carelessly thrown away, imprint myself on her skin, on her soul. But I also want her to feel my hatred, my loathing of everything she stands for _'what I stand for, what I let slip through my fingers, my almost unavoidable death - me'._

The music intensifies, the beat raw, bright blue takes over its hold on the darkness again. Flashing lights come to life on the walls and flicker on my closed eyelids. I try to keep floating in my angry haze, trying to hold on to this moment, where I at least feel something other than the gnawing 'what-ifs', but still the magic atmosphere disappears, vaporizes like fog in the sun. The hands that were so intimate before are now pushing against my chest and my nostrils flare when they pick up a scent _'not her, not her, not her!'_

Realization hits fast and hard. I close my eyes even tighter, unwilling to face the truth and let my hands drop at my sides. I feel the warmth of her body leave me as she steps away from me. "Bastard!" _'no it can't, it simply cannot be'_ I open my eyes and let them adjust to room around me. _'she's gone'_ Same people, same bar, same lights. A door at the far end opens and for a brief moment I catch a glimpse of familiar hair lit up by the moon light, and her well-known slightly musky scent is more overwhelming than anything I may have smelt before _'your mind's playing tricks on you' - 'shut it, Sam!'_

Whiskey number .. _'never mind' _and I still see her face. The lights go on and off and the visions come and go as I weave my way through the bar to a deserted table in a corner. I feel like I've lost her again, lost another chance of being saved, and lost my last hope. I was so convinced it was her, perhaps the stuck-up bitch had managed to lie and cheat her way out of Hell _'wouldn't put it past her'_ But what if it was her, why in Hell_ 'no pun intended' _would she seek me out, why do what she did. Or was it her final revenge? No it could not have been her. Impossible.

My inner-debate goes on and my attention for the bar, the people and even my whiskey fades. I get up and make my way to where I last thought I saw her. The 'OUT' sign above the door is my guide and I reach it with little effort. The eerie blue of the moon illuminates the only girl waiting for me in the parking lot. My beautiful, faithful black girl; I walk over to her and sit down on her hood.

I look around, not a soul in sight. The dull sound of music comes from the bar as the moon rises high. The minutes, hours -I don't know how long I sit there- are slowly going by. My life's ticking away and I just sit and wait, wait for some one to show up, some one to prove me right, to prove that I was not delusional, that there is still a chance to save my soul. The last person I ever thought I would be longing for, waiting for, looking for, and hoping for even.

Sobering up I, deep down, know she will never show up, not anymore, and when the morning breaks and the moonlight fades I go back to the motel room. Sam's asleep and static fills the room. I turn my back to the TV, push the curtains aside a little and look outside, trying to ignore the irony _'movie's over, boy' _of the mocking blue light behind me.

She's not here - In vain my eyes still try to find her - Has never been. And I'm aware that I will only know her fate for certain when I see her in Hell.

_'Too late, sweetheart'_

-o~0~o-

The End


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